


Runaway Wolf

by FallenGods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Slight OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8567083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGods/pseuds/FallenGods
Summary: Before Brandon Stark left to go confront Prince Rhaegar, he was a married man with a child on the way. However, he never returned from the south and his son never got to meet his father.
Rylon Stark never got to meet his father, and despite how hard his uncle and half-siblings tried, he never quite felt like he was truly a part of the family. So that is why he decides to leave the North and to go see what else the world offers. What he finds may delight him, terrify him, or even be a matter of life and death. And even though he is leaving his family behind, he won't have to face it all alone.





	1. Catelyn

**Author's Note:**

> Some things have been changed from the books/show for this work. One of the main changes is that Brandon and Catelyn were married and had a child before Brandon had gone off to fight in the Rebellion and that the Rebellion started before Brandon died.

Catelyn Stark stood on the walls of Riverrun stone-faced, her newborn son silent in her arms. Rylon was his name. It was a new name, one that was not passed down from Stark to Stark, nor Tully to Tully. It was a fresh name that carried with it no prestige and no shame. It was his and his alone to shape and mold however way he chose.

Her brother Edmure stood next to her, just as solemn and silent as she, and their sister Lysa stood just on the other side of him. The three Tullys were waiting for their father, Lord Hoster, for Lysa's betrothed Lord Jon Arryn, and for Catelyn's husband Brandon Stark, a man they called the Wild Wolf. He had a reputation for being a man who need not try hard for the attention of women and it was war, after all. Many men returned home with young babes of their own, bastards born from whores or commoners. Catelyn did not care if her Brandon sired a bastard while in the south. She just wanted him to come back to her.

It seemed like they had been standing there for ages before she saw them coming over the horizon. She shouted for the men at their posts to lower the drawbridge and she ran down to meet the returning soldiers at the gates. Her father was at the head of the party and arrived at her side first. He did not look at her as he stepped down from his horse. He did not look at her as he unbuckled his sword from his waist and handed it over to his squire. He did not look at her until most of the returning men had already passed over the bridge and began disappearing deeper into the hold. It wasn't until the ever-so-somber Eddard Stark rode up alongside the two of them, carrying a babe of his own, did Hoster Tully turn to look at his daughter.

"I'm so sorry, Cat," her father began. He told her of the battles they faced. He told her of how Brandon fought bravely, of how he fought for her. He told her how true he remained; how he would sit alone in his tent rather than so much as step foot in a brothel. He told her all of the stories he had of Brandon, but she was numb to it all, only barely hearing his words. 

"How?" she asked, her voice soft and weak. "How did he die?" she asked again, her voice filled with anger this time.

"He... um... he-" her father began again, stuttering and stammering, nervously. He looked down at his hands and tried to find the words.

"He was burned alive by the Mad King," Eddard said, plainly. It was the first thing he had said since he arrived. "Brandon and my father marched on King's Landing to demand my sister's life in exchange for Prince Rhaegar's. We had captured the crown prince following the Battle of the Trident," she had heard of this battle, it took place not far from where she now stood. Eddard continued, "Aerys refused. He commanded his men to attack my brother and they surrounded him." He paused, a rare showing of emotion, pain, broke through on his face. "They tied him and my father up in the throne room and burned them alive."

The tears stung on her face. They ran eagerly down, but she did not sob. She didn't make a noise. Then, very quietly, she asked, "and what of Aerys and Rhaegar? What of the Targaryens?"

"Aerys Targaryen was stabbed in the back by a member of his own Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister. Rhaegar Targaryen was captured by Tywin Lannister during the Sack of King's Landing and later executed by Robert Baratheon. Elia Martell and her two children, Rhaenys and Aegon have fled. No one is sure where to. The Queen died in childbirth on Dragonstone, birthing a girl which she named Daenerys. The babe and her brother, Viserys have gone as well." Eddard explained, yet again emotionless.

Catelyn hugged her babe to her chest, her little Rylon, and turned to flee the company of these two men. Tears continued to pour down her face, but still she made no noise. Not until she closed the doors to her bedchambers did she collapse and began weeping. The boy in her hands, her son, merely looked up at her with his grey-blue eyes and remained silent, unknowing. 

 


	2. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some age-stuffs. Everyone will be aged up a couple years when the main story kicks off. Also, to explain the birth order a bit: Rylon is a few months older than Jon, and Jon is a year older than Robb in this. Also, sorry for not updating sooner. I had problems with my computer.

Eddard stood in the courtyard of Winterfell watching the children play. Catelyn was inside nursing baby Rickon. Bran and Arya chased one another around the yard. Sansa stood off to the side speaking with Septa Mordane. The boys, Robb, Jon, and Theon stood in the center of the courtyard whacking each other with wooden swords. The only one missing was his nephew, Rylon.  _Where has that boy gone now?_ Eddard pondered in his mind.

As if summoned by his uncle's thoughts, Rylon stepped out into the light from behind the stables. A girl several years older than the four-and-ten year old boy shuffled off quickly, trying to avoid being seen. Rylon readjusted his tunic and cloak as he walked, red-faced, over towards Eddard.  _Gods, he is just like Brandon._

"Rylon!" Theon Greyjoy called out to him, "join us; we could teach you a few things." Rylon moved to join the other boys and was handed a training sword. Jon moved to hand him a padded tunic to soften the blows, but he waved Jon off.

"No need," Rylon said with a sly grin on his face. He truly was his father's son. He had his father's wild, carefree demeanor, his long black hair, his already noticeable height and bulk. The only thing Catelyn had left in the boy were his clear blue eyes. He was not Ned's true son, but he had raised Rylon since he was a babe and he loved him just as much as he did Robb or Bran.

Theon Greyjoy rushed towards Rylon swinging and lunging at the younger boy, but Rylon was too quick. He parried and dodged every swing from Theon, who was putting more power into each new strike. Theon tired himself out quickly and Rylon took his opportunity, dropping to his knee to avoid a big swing and driving his sword against the other boy's chest. Theon helped Rylon up and moved to the side to catch his breath, a smile wide on his face.

"Who's next?" Rylon asked to the other two boys. By this point, the other children in the yard had stopped to watch the fights. Robb and Jon looked at each other and an idea must've passed between them because they nodded and moved forward together. Rylon was fast, much faster than the other boys, but it was still two on one and Rylon was having trouble keeping them at bay. Ned could see the panic on his nephew's face, the desperation that he masked so well. The others couldn't see it, they were not perceptive enough to see through Rylon's calm facade. Ned had to give him credit, however, the boy was blocking and redirecting the strikes coming at him enough to give him space to move about. He would make a fine swordsman one day.

It seemed as if it was nearly over when Robb made a small mistake. He swung his sword a bit too hard at Rylon. It took him only a moment to recover, but it was long enough for Rylon to pick up on the opportunity. He rushed forward and slammed into Robb's side, knocking him to the ground and launching himself over the fallen boy. Jon followed him, but Rylon was already to his feet and running towards Jon. Rylon parried away his sword and drove his shoulder into Jon's stomach. Once again, Rylon rolled over his victim and jumped to his feet.

"Who's next?" Rylon asked to the courtyard and all the bystanders who had come to watch to boys practice. "Uncle? You want to see if you still have what it takes?" Rylon pointed to tip of the sword at Ned, playfully.

"Don't get too cocky now. You never know who will finally get the better of you," Ned responded and as if to emphasize his point, his younger daughter, Arya snuck up behind Rylon and struck him in the back with a stick.

"Oh, you little-" Rylon said through a laugh and took off after a fleeing Arya. The other kids yelled and cheered at the runners, even Sansa was cheering.

"Ned," a soft voice said from off to Ned's right. Catelyn was leaning against the wall on one side of the courtyard. She gestured for him to follow and she led him to their bedroom, where Rickon lay sleeping next to Old Nan. Upon seeing the Lord and Lady enter the room, Nan bowed her head and exited, closing the door as she left. 

"Have you decided?" Catelyn asked as she took a seat next to her new child.

"No," Ned responded, plainly. He had already known what she was going to ask.

"They are getting older. They are nearly men grown now." 

"I know, I know," Ned said and moved to the window, to look out into the yard at his family, focusing on two in particular: the amber-haired and eager Robb and his wild nephew Rylon, his last reminder of his brother. Rylon was the son of the eldest Stark from Ned's generation. If Brandon was still alive, Winterfell would pass to Rylon when he came of age, but Brandon was dead and buried. The title of Lord of Winterfell passed directly from Ned's father to him and could likely pass to Ned's son, Robb, instead of Rylon. It was a decision that weighed heavily on Ned. He loved his brother dearly, but he found himself often wondering what Winterfell and the North would be like under the Wild Wolf's control.  _And Rylon truly is just like his father._   _Would Brandon have known what to do? Does Rylon?_ "What would you have me do? They are both your children."

Catelyn did not respond immediately. "I do not know," she responded quietly, after some time. "I do not know, but the decision must be made sooner or later."

Ned and Cat remained quiet for many moments. "Two years," Ned broke the silence, "two years and they will be six-and-ten and five-and-ten. I will choose then, but I still need time to think." Cat nodded and left the room, leaving Ned alone with his newborn son. Ned walked over to where Rickon lay sleeping and put a hand on the child's head. "How am I to choose? Gods I wish you had the answer for me." He bent down and kissed Rickon's head before leaving the room, sending Nan back in after him.


	3. Rylon

Rylon was now six-and-ten and nearly the same height as his uncle. The two were at the head of the party, with Robb and Jon directly behind on horses of their own. Farther behind were Theon Greyjoy, Bran, Jory Cassel and at least half a dozen guardsmen. 

"How long has it been?" Rylon asked as the two men rode side-by-side. He turned to look at Ned, who was clearly distraught.

"Since I had to kill a deserter? Many years." Ned answered with a sigh. "This is not good, not good at all. The Night's Watch is already operating with less than optimal numbers. If people start deserting, I fear the Old Bear won't have enough men to fight off a snow bear, let alone a band of wildlings."

Rylon did not have an answer for Ned's problem and sat silently as they rode on. They eventually reached the spot they were looking for. A small indented log sat on the ground, seemingly at random. Next to it stood a man in black surrounded by a dozen or more men-at-arms who had been sent out to find him. The man had neither of his ears and only some of his fingers. He was muttering something to nobody in particular. Ned dismounted and Rylon followed suit. Soon they were joined by the others and the men beside the former Black Brother brought him forward to face Ned.

"Do you have a name, Ser?" Ned asked the man. Precious few knights called the Wall their home anymore, but Ned was being polite.

The man looked up, as if just realizing that Ned was there. "Gared," he said, his voice hoarse and weak.

"Why'd you do it?" Rylon asked him. This man did not appear to be some evil-doer sent up to the Wall for some heinous crime, he just seemed like a man who was absolutely terrified of... something.

"The White Walkers... the Others have returned. I seen 'em with me own two eyes." Gared explained. Theon snickered off to Rylon's right, earning himself an elbow to the belly from Jon. "I did! They killed Ser Royce and Will. The Others are back... the Others have returned..." Gared returned to merely murmuring to himself, but his eyes remained locked on Ned's.

After a few moments of silence, Ned asked "Do you have any last words?" Gared looked down at his feet, defeated.

"No," he said. Ned nodded to his men and the deserter was brought to his knees. Ned unsheathed his greatsword, Ice and spoke his titles and words. After he was done, he brought Ice down atop the man's neck and it was over. The boys and the men returned to the horses and mounted. Ned rode up beside Bran and waved the others on.

"Race you to the bridge," Robb announced.

"You're on," Rylon responded and the two were off, followed closely by Jon and Theon.

 

* * *

 

Rylon stood next to it alongside Jon, Robb, Theon, and several of Ned's men.

"What is going on here?" Ned asked as he rode through the crowd. A stag lay dead in the road and just off the side of the road, lay a giant direwolf with the stag's horn lodged in its throat. Rylon walked down into the ditch to the wolf.

"There hasn't been a direwolf south of the Wall in over two hundred years," Theon Greyjoy explained.

"No, but now there are six," Rylon responded and bent over to pick up several direwolf pups. He handed one to Bran and another to Robb.

"Oh, father, can we keep them?" Bran asked, eagerly, hugging his to his chest.

"No, they do not belong south of the Wall, better a quick death," Ned said, plainly, and at that, Theon unsheathed a dagger and made a move toward Bran's pup. Bran squealed in protest and turned away from him. Robb moved forward and stood between Theon and Bran. 

"Father," it was Jon now, "there are six pups. One for each Stark child. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them." Ned stood in contemplation before responding.

"Fine, but you will feed them, you will bathe them, and you will watch over them. You will not give that work to anyone else. And if it turns out that they cannot be controlled, then you yourselves will take them out into the yard and kill them," He looked for the recognition in his sons' eyes and turned to remount his horse.

Rylon handed the other pups over to Robb, Bran, and Theon, taking the largest of them for himself, and followed them back to the horses. He turned back when he realized Jon was not following them and saw that he was holding a seventh pup, an albino, the runt of the litter. 

"That one's yours Snow," Theon said. All Rylon could offer Jon was a shrug. Jon tried to act solemn, but Rylon could see the hint of a smile appear on Jon's face as he hugged the wolf to his chest and moved to follow Rylon back to the horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first Rylon chapter is pretty short, sorry, but this is the weekend and I intend on adding between 1 and 3 more before Monday, so please be patient. Also forewarning: some characters in the story will seem a little OOC. If you don't like that, don't read it. Lastly, right now we are kind of catching up to the start of the story, the next two chapters are when things really start kicking off. Once again, please be patient with me.


	4. Rylon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to have more chapters up by Monday, but life got in the way. I'm sorry I couldn't get more up sooner, but hopefully I'll have more consistency in the future. Until then...

Rylon was standing alongside his family in the middle of Winterfell's courtyard. He was to the left of his mother, Catelyn. To the right of her stood his uncle, Ned, and all of his half-siblings. Behind them stood Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy amongst all the other residents of Winterfell. It was a special day after all; it wasn't common for the king to travel all the way from King's Landing to this wintery castle, even for an old friend.

"Do you think he'll bring that Lannister wife of his?" Theon whispered to Jon, louder than he meant to, "I heard she has some of the nicest..."

"Of course he will, you idiot, she's the Queen," Arya responded, cutting him off from whatever lewd comment he was about to make, turning to face him as she did. Jon turned her back around and Sansa glared at her. Rylon couldn't stop himself from chuckling lightly at her outburst, earning himself a glare of his own from his mother.

They didn't have much more time for jokes, because almost immediately after Rylon got his laughter under control, King Robert Baratheon rode into the courtyard flanked by two members of his Kingsguard that Rylon did not recognize. He strode over to an empty space in the yard and awaited the next arriving members of his party. A boy rode in next on a stallion that clearly fit his ego better than his actual stature. He was slender with fair skin, long golden locks, and shiny green eyes: the Lannister look. Behind him on a black, mean-looking courser sat an even meaner looking man in slate-grey armor and a wicked helmet resembling a dog's head. He was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, whose name meant something even this far North. The next man who rode in was wearing shiny gold lined steel plate and the white cloak familiar to the Kingsguard. When he removed his helmet and let his golden hair show, there was no doubt that this was Ser Jaime Lannister, the infamous Kingslayer. Finally, a gold and ivory wheelhouse rolled up just outside the walls of Winterfell, and three more Lannisters stepped out. The first was a women in her thirties with the now-familiar Lannister gold hair and green eyes. Queen Cersei was one of the most beautiful women Rylon had ever seen. Following the Queen, were the two younger Baratheon children, the pudgy Prince Tommen and little Princess Myrcella. Ned knelt before the King and the rest followed suit. Rylon did not like kneeling, not to some Southron king, but he was taught honor and respect and so he dropped to one knee just like the rest.

Robert Baratheon was a big man, with a round stomach and a bushy, unkempt beard. Growing up, Rylon had heard stories of the great Robert Baratheon who rode down Rhaegar Targaryen, swinging a mighty war hammer. This man was nothing like the Robert he had heard so much of. The king motioned with his hand for everyone to stand up. Ned did first and, again, the rest followed his example.

"You've gotten fat," the King said to Ned. A tense moment passed before Robert and Ned both laughed and embraced one another in a hug. He moved to Catelyn and gave her a hug as well. He then moved to stand in front of Rylon and extended his hand. Rylon took it eagerly, looking Robert in the eyes as he did.

"You're Brandon's son, eh?" Robert asked him and let go of his hand.

"Aye, Your Grace, my name is Rylon," he responded, proudly. Although he had never met his father, he was proud of the man whom he had been told he was. A brave soldier, kind brother, and good man.

"I was never very close to Brandon, not like I was with Ned here," Robert continued, "but I fought beside him once and spoke with him plenty. He was a good man, one of the best I've ever known." Rylon nodded and Robert squeezed his shoulder, then made his way farther along to go see the other Stark children. The queen, Cersei Lannister made her way in front of the family. She stopped in front of Rylon first, eyeing him up and down, her face a mask of indifference. Rylon bowed his head to her.

"Your Grace," Rylon said again, as he was taught. The Queen held out a perfumed hand towards him and he took it and brought his lips to it, kissing her soft skin. She moved on past Catelyn and to Ned, offering her hand to him as well. As Rylon waited for the greetings to be done, he studied the men and women and children who now occupied Winterfell's courtyard. 

"Show me to your crypts. I'd like to pay my respects," Robert told Ned. Queen Cersei protested, but the King would not hear it and waved her off. Robert and Ned left to go look at Lyanna's tomb. Rylon studied Robert's Rebellion with Maester Luwin. He was well aware of what had happened between the Starks, Baratheons, and Targaryens almost twenty years prior.

* * *

 

After Rylon had shown the Baratheon children, the Princes and Princess to their chambers, Rylon made his way to his own. The Royal Family made his head ache and his stomach turn, even the pretty Myrcella and beautiful Cersei, both of whom could not stop themselves from staring at him, although for different reasons, he suspected.

Once in the room, with his door closed, Rylon moved towards the fire pit in the dark and felt about for the flint and steel striker he used to ignite the kindling and set his chambers to a warm orange glow. The low born and commoners were no doubt still preparing for the feast tonight. The Baratheons and, likely, the Starks were resting or becoming more familiar with one another. Rylon removed his boots and his cloak and laid down on his bed, nearly drifting off to sleep when a figure leapt lightly onto the bed with him. He opened one eye, tentatively, and unsurprisingly found himself staring into the eyes of a blue-eyed, jet black direwolf that was already far larger than any hound the Starks housed in Winterfell's kennels.

"Good boy," Rylon whispered and reached out to scratch behind the wolf's ear. The wolf curled up, clearly satisfied and laid his head on Rylon's chest. "Go ahead and get some rest Shadow. It's going to be a long night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon: a Lannister chapter, a look into our friends across the narrow sea, and a visitor from the North.


	5. Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for no chapter in a little while. First there was Thanksgiving, and then I was feeling quite ill for a few days, but regardless, I'm back at it. How was your guys' Thanksgiving if you live in America? If you don't, how was your weekend?

Elia Martell watched her children play from a balcony seat on the second story of good Magister Illyrio's manse. Aegon and Rhaenys ran about with Elia's good-sister Daenerys, Dany. The eldest, Elia's good-brother Viserys stood off to one side, watching. His hand resting, anxiously, on the hilt of the basic arming sword that Illyrio had given him. Still, even- no, especially, after all this time running for their lives, Viserys only had one thing in mind: the Iron Throne. But Robert Baratheon had that now, the man that killed her husband. She never wished death on any man before, she was just not that hateful of a person. Even now, even after all that Baratheon had done, she did not hate him, not truly, she pitied him. Robert Baratheon has no idea what vengeance will be brought upon him and all his allies: the Starks and Arryns, the Tullys, and especially those traitorous Lannisters.

"Your Grace, your brother has arrived," a young, copper skinned servant came to tell her, ripping her from her thoughts. Her anger was quickly replaced with joy at the news of her brother's arrival and she quickly made her way through the house to a sitting room on the main floor. Brightly colored, plush cushions were scattered about the floor. Ahead of her was an open-air, columned room that lead out directly onto a large sandstone platform that overlooked the sea. Two people, a man and woman, dressed in Dornish garb stood against the stone half-wall chatting, quietly. 

"Oberyn," Elia called out and ran into a hug from her younger brother, "Gods, it's been too long."

"Aye, it has sister. Someday, perhaps sooner than you might expect, you will be back in Sunspear with me and Doran, again," Oberyn reassured her. Elia had her doubts about how soon it would be, but she did hope for a return to her old home. Elia moved past Oberyn now and embraced the woman, her brother's paramour, Ellaria. 

"How are things back in Westeros?" Elia asked, as the three found their seats on the soft pillows that were scattered about. One of Illyrio's servants came by and poured sweet wine into cups for them.

"Ah... tense," Oberyn admitted, "The King's Hand is dead and there is word he has left for Winterfell to ask Lord Stark to become the new one. The Lannisters won't like that, and likely neither will the Tyrells."

"I never heard about the Tyrells hating the Starks."

"No, not personally, but the Tyrells play the game with gold. The Wolves have little care for the gold or the titles, the formalities. It is a whole different game in the North, or so I'm told."

The trio became silent, simply enjoying each other's company, until Viserys entered with the other three Targaryens in tow. Viserys led the pack, but only through age. He had long silvery blonde hair, deep-set lilac eyes, and a hard, gaunt face. Beside him stood the youngest and smallest dragon out of them, Daenerys Stormborn. Despite her young age, she was already incredibly beautiful with a short, slender stature, the familiar silver-blonde hair of the Targaryens, and a pair of deep purple eyes. Thirdly stood Aegon. He was a tall and muscular youth, who had a slim, fit look. He had silver hair cut short, contrasting his family, and dark indigo eyes. He, like Viserys, carried a sword at his waist, but Aegon could actually use his well enough to justify carrying it. Lastly stood Aegon's sister, Elia's eldest child Rhaenys. She had precious little of her father in her look and appeared out of place among the other Targaryens. She was tall and skinny, with smooth, olive skin, dark eyes, and long, flowing brown hair. She had a natural beauty about her.

"Prince Oberyn, it is good to see you," Viserys announced and came forward, offering his hand.

"And you, Prince Viserys," Oberyn rose to take his hand and Viserys seemed to shrink in the presence of the famed Red Viper.

"Uncle!" It was Aegon now who came forward, but instead of offering his hand, the young boy moved to embrace his uncle.

"You're getting big, boy. I bet you'd give me quite a challenge before long," Oberyn noted and Aegon stepped aside, allowing his sister to come forward and hug her uncle as well. "And you, sweet Rhaenys, you will be a great leader some day. A Princess, a Queen."

* * *

After the Targaryens had all scattered to go do as they pleased, Elia was left with Oberyn and Ellaria alone once more. They were stood on a dock in the evening shade.

"Must you leave so soon?" Elia asked her brother.

"I'm afraid so, sister. The King's spies are everywhere and if any of them find me stopped in Pentos for too long, they will start to wonder what, or who, it is I come here for," Oberyn explained and started up the ramp and onto the ship that was to take them back to Dorne. Ellaria remained behind.

"The Seven Kingdoms are tense, Your Grace, ripe and ready for war. The King is not loved by all. The Wolves and the Lions will soon be at each others' throats. There are many in the Kingdoms who would welcome another Targaryen rule and we suspect the number will only rise in the upcoming strife. Be vigilant and be prepared. You will return home soon enough." Ellaria whispered into Elia's ear, then made her way onto the ship, following her lover.

Elia's mind was racing as she walked back towards her temporary home and for the first time in a long time, she found herself smiling as she drifted off to sleep, hope filling her heart.


	6. Jaime

"Why is everything in the North so damn cold?" Jaime asked the young Stark boy who, at the words, looked up from the horse he was saddling, as if he was just suddenly aware of the Lannister's presence. He didn't respond, however, and immediately went back to what he was doing. He was the half-sibling, Brandon's son Rylon.

"Rion, is it? Or Riam?" Jaime asked, he had heard so much of the boy from Myrcella and Joffrey already. Myrcella was completely enraptured by the Northerner, whereas Joff hated him. And Jaime had caught Cersei looking at him when she thought no one was looking at  _her._ It was the little things, even just seemingly forgetting one's name, that Jaime did to let them know they were inferior.

"Rylon." He said without emotion and without so much as looking up at Jaime. He could tell that Rylon was not as taken aback by the knight as his sisters and half-brothers were.

Jaime nodded, "I imagine you are going with them on the hunt then?" Yet again, Jaime received no response. "Do you know who I am, boy?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, member of King Robert's Kingsguard and King Aerys's before him. Son of Tywin, Lord of Casterly Rock and brother to the Queen," Rylon looked up at Jaime, plainly, as if the words he had said, the titles Jaime had meant nothing to him. 

_No Kingslayer? It wasn't out of politeness that he kept that out, was it? No, this boy was too blunt with his words to be trying to be polite,_ Jaime thought to himself, "You forgot best swordsman to ever live." Jaime said with a smile.

"Arthur Dayne."

"What?"

"Arthur Dayne," Rylon repeated, "The Sword of the Morning was the best swordsman to ever live. Then the Dragonknight, Ser Barristan the Bold in his prime, Ser Gerold Hightower, perhaps a few more, then you."

Jaime smiled. He was impressed by the boy, truly. "You have a mind for joining that list, someday?" Jaime asked and gestured to the sword at Rylon's hip. Rylon could only shrug. "You could be, you have the right blood for it." At that, Rylon looked up for a moment, but continued his work. When he finished, he took the horses reins and walked her from the stables to a post by the front gate. Jaime followed after him.

"That's what you get right?" Jaime asked, "All the knights and lords you meet, even the King today. They all want to tell you how great Brandon Stark was. They all want to tell you how bravely he fought or how good of a man he was. And you stand and you hear it again and again and you say your thanks and you feel prouder with each telling. Well I won't tell you how good of a man he was, mainly because I never said a word to him, but I also won't tell you because it won't make a difference what kind of man he was. Everyone here, these Southron knights and lords and commoners who stare at you as you pass, your mother, your uncle, the King, they are all waiting to see if you'll be like him. They want to know if you'll grow up to be just like Brandon. You know it, you've seen it on their faces. And I'll tell you what, it doesn't matter what Brandon was like because you aren't Brandon. You are Rylon Stark. Be Rylon Stark. Don't live a life trying to be like him, or trying to be better than him. Just be Rylon Stark." Rylon studied Jaime for a moment and nodded. Jaime returned it and walked away, leaving the young man alone.

* * *

 

Jaime found his way to Winterfell's great hall, where his siblings sat alone on opposite sides of the long table. Jaime found his seat somewhere between them and picked his way through a plate of burnt bacon and washed it down with a mug of dark brown ale.

"So, brother, you didn't wish to go kill animals for sport with the rest of the men?" Tyrion asked, his mismatched eyes peering up from his own cup.

"And spend more time with the Starks? No, I'm fine here," Jaime replied and began smearing honey over a slice of bread.

"Ah, well, your loss. I find the Starks to be a lovely family. Peculiar yes, but what family doesn't have their quirks?" Tyrion responded.

"Cold, emotionless, blunt, simple," Cersei added, looking down at her empty plate. 

"But not the one," Jaime corrected her. "Not Rylon."

"Brandon's son? You've spoken to him?" Tyrion asked.

"Aye, we spoke. Smart lad, strong looking. If he comes South with his uncle, assuming Ned agrees to become Hand-"

"Which he will," Cersei interrupted.

"-then I just may talk him into becoming my squire. Then I can see what the boy is really made of." Jaime explained.

"Northerners don't usually become knights, though. Knights are an Andal tradition." Tyrion explained.

"His mother follows the Seven, he could be convinced." Jaime shrugged it off and continued eating. As he was looking down at his plate, he didn't notice the strange looks he was getting from both of his siblings. After a moment of silence, the hall was returned to a drone of screeches as Myrcella ran screaming into the room being chased by her brother, Tommen. Joffrey had gone hunting with his  _father._

"What were you three talking about?" Tommen asked as he climbed up onto the bench beside Tyrion.

"Starks. Our gracious hosts." Tyrion responded and piled sausages and bread onto the boy's plate for him.

"Like Bran, and Arya?" Tommen suggested.

"Like Rylon," Myrcella added, then quickly looked down at her lap, a futile attempt at masking her blushing face.

"Oh gods," was all Cersei could add. Jaime laughed at that and continued breaking his fast with his family until the king returned.


End file.
